Most of our new houses are really not designed at all, but assembled without much thought for their ultimate composition. Architects seldom have anything to do with the process. Instead, a team of marketing engineers comes up with a product that will bring in more money at less cost to the developer. The team’s job is to devise a cheap structure that people will actually pay good money for. Low-grade, vinyl siding, ornamental gables and asphalt shingles have become their preferred medium. Adding extra square footage is about the cheapest, easiest way there is to increase a property’s market value, so it is applied liberally without any apparent attempt to make the additional space particularly useful. The final product is almost always a bulky conglomeration
of parts without cohesion — a success, by industry standards, where oversized invariably equals big profits.
Even when left to certified architects, the design of our homes can sometimes be less than sensible. Too frequently, a licensed architect’s self-perceived need for originality takes precedence over the real needs of his or her clients. Common sense is abandoned for frivolous displays of talent. Where a straight gable would make the most sense, a less savvy architect will throw in a few cantilevers and an extra dormer, just for show. Subtractive design is abandoned for hopes of personal recognition and for what is likely to be a very leaky house. Common sense is an inherent part of all great architecture. Sadly, this crucial resource has become anything but common in the creation of residential America.
Certainly the most famous example of those whose aspirations for a good name took precedence over good design was Frank Lloyd Wright. Wright was fond of innovative methods and extravagant forms. Those novel houses that once earned him recognition as a peerless innovator have since earned him another kind of reputation. Leaks are a part of many Wright houses. Wright has become infamous not only for his abundant drips but for his impudent dismissal of their significance. "If the roof doesn’t leak,” he professed, "the architect hasn’t been creative enough.” And to those clients who dared to complain about seepage, he would repeatedly quip, "That’s how you can tell it’s a roof.”
Subtractive design is integral to, and nearly synonymous with, vernacular design. Both entail planning a home that will satisfy its inhabitants’ domestic needs without far exceeding them. This is also what is known as common sense. When applied to buildings, the word "vernacular” in fact means "common”: that is to say "ordinary” and "of the people.” In contrast to housing that is made by professionals for profit or fame, vernacular housing is designed by ordinary folks simply striving to house themselves by the most proven and effective means available.
Webster’s defines vernacular as "architectural expression employing the commonest forms, materials, and decorations” (Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, G. and C. Merriam Co. 1966. p. 2544). If a particular type of roof works better than any other, then that is what is used. In short, vernacular architecture is not the product of invention, but of evolution—its parts plucked from the great global stew pot of common knowledge and common forms. Anything is fair game so long as it has been empirically proven to work well and withstand the test of time. By using only tried-and-true forms and building practices, such design successfully avoids the multitude of postoccupancy problems typical of more "innovative” architecture.
The vernacular home does not preclude modern conveniences. There are, after all, better ways to insulate these days than with buffalo skins. The vernacular designer appropriates the best means currently available to meet human needs, but, technology is, of course, employed only where it will enhance the quality of life within a dwelling and not cause undue burden.
Mendocino gable (right)
